


Aware

by cedarmoons



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 10k of SMUT i have no regrets, F/M, Gentle Sex, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, PWP, Sensual Solas, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarmoons/pseuds/cedarmoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d bathed alone with Solas several times—but that was before he called her his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aware

**Author's Note:**

> another kinkmeme prompt: "I see a lot of rough and dom/sub promps and fills of this pairing. I'd like to finally see a fic where Solas actually makes gentle beautiful love to the woman he loves! Maybe its Lavellens first time ever having sex so hes being extra careful? Or maybe they just want their first time having sex to be special and not carnal rutting? Either way is fine."
> 
> honestly, i'm shameless. enjoy the corniest thing i've ever written in my life!!

Ellana has never been so eager to take off her clothes.

The Emerald Graves is hot and sticky even at night. Moonlight ripples over the water as she peels off her tunic—the only thing she wears, and solely for modesty’s sake—and lets it drop to the floor. The water is delightfully chilly, and she sighs as she forces herself to plunge into the water.

When she emerges, the crickets’ songs have swelled, and the whole forest is alive. The water comes up only to her waist, but it’s enough for her. Ellana finds a relatively flat rock bordering the pool and brings both her nightshirt and the bathing supplies she’d stolen from Dorian to rest them across its surface.

A twig snaps behind her, and she tenses once before relaxing. She recognizes that gait—Solas had made noise to let her know of his presence, not because he had accidently stepped on a twig. He is too deliberate in everything he does for such a mistake.

“Vhenan,” Solas greets, and he sounds surprised. “I was under the impression you were sleeping.”

She shakes her head, and as she looks over her shoulder she has the strangest urge to cover her breasts. Ridiculous. She’s bathed with Solas several times—this instance is no different.

 _Liar,_ a voice whispers, insidious, and it sends heat curling through her belly. _That was before he said he loved you. And the others were with you._

“It’s too hot out,” she replies. “Couldn’t sleep. Come on in, Solas. The water’s so nice.”

She turns back to the tray Dorian always brings with him. There’s two crystal bottles of shampoo, a bar of soap smelling like sandalwood and a hint of vanilla, a rag, and a hand-sized pitcher for water. She stares at the shampoo, knowing she should reach for it, but all she can do is listen to the forest’s sounds.

At last, the _plop_ of disturbed water reaches her ears, and her heart begins to pound underneath her ribcage. Solas wades to her side, and she comes back to herself. _Act normal_ , she tells herself, but she can feel the heat on her cheeks and a strange, coiling anticipation in her belly. _It’s just a bath. Just. A. Bath._

She reaches for the shampoo, and Solas stretches out his hand. There’s nothing sudden in the movement, nothing unexpected. She stills, and his fingertips brush against the back of her ring knuckle, the gentlest touch that makes her shiver.

She looks at him for the first time that night, and her mouth goes dry. The water is dark around his waist, but the moonlight shines upon his skin and makes it glow. His eyes are bright and blue.

He lifts another finger to his lips, and releases a long, steady flow of breath against his fingertip. Golden sparks fly from his lips and widen as they stream into the air. Ellana turns around as the wisps of magic flee to the edges of the pool and widen, harmless flames licking at air.

Soon, the entire pond is ringed in soft golden lights. “Much better,” Solas says, and Ellana turns to him. He reaches around her, the skin of his arm brushing against her waist, and her mouth goes dry.

For a moment, she thinks he will rest his other arm on the rock as well, trapping her in his grasp. The thought makes her breath hitch in anticipation, and when she meets his gaze she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

His gaze snaps down to the gesture, and the look on his face makes heat gather between her legs. Then, with the same deliberate slowness as before, he steps back, and there is a rock in his hand. He traces a glyph into it, and a fire symbol glows red on its surface. Solas opens his hand and lets the rock fall.

Once the water swallows the offering, she feels the pond begin to warm. “Perfect,” he says, his eyes never leaving hers. She swallows and offers a shaky smile, then turns back to the tray.

Oh, Dorian will never let her hear the end of it. She’s been reading every terrible smut book she can without Cassandra noticing, just for a night like this, when she could turn to Solas and say, _I want you_. And then they’d have sex and it would be wonderful, in Dorian’s words.

She knows the mechanics of sex, of course. She knows that it could bring great pain or great pleasure, and she’d listened to her clan sisters gossip about their bonded. But she has never been interested in sex, not until Solas. She has never felt as connected to anyone as she does to Solas.

But now that she has the chance, she can’t bring herself to ask. Even though he calls her his heart, even though they’ve shared more than their fair share of kisses, the possibility of rejection keeps her silent.

Her hands shake as she grabs the shampoo bottle, and Solas rests his hand atop hers. “What is it, Ellana?” he asks, his breath warm on her ear. She closes her eyes, her skin prickling. He sounds more concerned than anything else, and she tries to focus on that. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No!” she gasps, her hand tightening over the cork in the shampoo bottle. She turns her head and swallows when she finds that he’s almost close enough to bump noses with. Maybe if she leaned forward… she looks back at the tray. “No. Stay, please.”

She can feel his hesitation, though no parts of their bodies touch except for their hands. “Very well.” His hand moves over hers, and she watches his fingertips leave a wet trail across her skin. He touches the shampoo bottle and strokes his thumb over the edge of her hand. “May I?”

Unsure of what he’s asking, she nods, and he hooks a thumb under her fingertips, gently prying her grasp from the shampoo bottle. She steps away, watching him move forward to take her place.

“Solas, what—”

“Hush, vhenan,” he says, so tenderly she stops. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Ellana watches him pour some shampoo into his hands, and understanding dawns. She turns around, forcing herself to relax in the warm water. She hears the water ripple as Solas moves back to her, hears his short, quiet exhale, and then his hands are in her hair.

Ellana has always liked her hair being stroked. Solas massaging her scalp, however, is ten times better. Her head falls back slightly and her eyes flutter shut. Solas chuckles in her ear, soft and light, and she smiles.

He continues to work a rich lather into her hair, his fingertips warm and soothing. It almost feels like a massage, rather than washing her hair. She opens her eyes, resisting the urge to immediately close them again, and lifts a hand, grabbing one of Solas’s wrists. When she pulls his hand down, his soapy fingertips are glowing with warmth.

She laces their fingers together, until his knuckles are curled over hers, and bring their conjoined hands to her lips. When she lowers their hands, she turns in his arms. “Thank you,” she says. The silt of the waterfall-fed pool sifts under her toes, but she still manages to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Solas slides his hands back into her shampoo-lathered hair and tilts her head back, returning the kiss. This kiss is not a short, sweet peck. It is gentle, tender and languid, as if they have all the time in the world. And in that moment, it feels as if they do. Her hands, trapped between their bodies, curl and rest against his chest.

“You are so beautiful,” he says when he breaks the kiss. His thumb massages a tender spot behind her ear. Her eyes slip shut, her lips parting on a soft, pleasured moan, and he takes advantage to kiss her again. His tongue slides into her mouth, tasting like mint and apples and love.

This time, when they part for air, he brushes soft, lingering kisses across her jaw. She tilts her head to give him easier access, and her toes curl in the warm silt of the pond. The water laps at her waist, warm as a caress, and once more the languid heat begins to gather in her belly.

And then his lips leave her skin, and she feels his absence keenly. She frowns at him, a small whine leaving her lips, and he chuckles as he kisses her forehead. “Your bath is not done,” he says, and resumes shampooing her hair with magic-warmed fingers.

She has few complaints after that.

Solas attends to her with the same intensity as he approaches everything, but there is a distinct lack of clinical interest to his touches. When he works in the shampoo over her temples, his fingers brush over the tips of her ears, and she sighs, leaning into his touch.

Despite the heat—literal and figurative—in his touch, his hands are the only thing that touch her. She wants to move back, move closer to him so that she can lean against his solid chest, but with every step she takes to close their separation he steps away until they’re back where they started.

At last, she gives up on their push-and-pull, and lets him do as he likes. When her hair is lathered in shampoo and slicked to her head, Solas moves away, and she moves deeper into the pool, until the water is at her collarbones. She plugs her nose and dives down into the pool, swimming toward the underwater bubbling that indicated the waterfall.

She rises up among the rocks and, laughing, pushed her wet hair out of her face. Water pounds on her back, like a pleasant if cold massage, and she holds her hands out to Solas. He wades to her, wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her closer, resting his forehead against hers as the waterfall mists around them. He’s smiling, and the golden light that surrounds their haven illuminates the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“Come, my heart,” he whispers against her lips, and she lets him bring her back to the warmth of the fire rune. Her left hand threads its fingers through his right, and Solas lifts their conjoined hands to his lips, a mimicry of her earlier action.

He grabs the rag from Dorian’s tray and dips it in the pool, and his hand pulls out of hers—she doesn’t even have time to miss the point of contact before his hand is on her waist and he’s turned her around. He places the cloth over her shoulder and rests his hand on the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

A bath should not be so arousing. Ellana is aware of every touch of his wet skin on hers, and her skin prickles with anticipation. She lifts up to gather her hair and pull it over the opposite shoulder, exposing her neck to him. Solas inhales quietly and the rag dips down, between her shoulder bones.

His lips replace the rag, soft and warm and tender. Ellana sighs, letting her head fall back as his lips press long, open-mouthed kisses to her skin. She hears a _plop_ as Solas tosses the rag back onto the rocks and smiles, squirming away from him.

He lets her go, and she turns around, breathless and heady. There’s already a steady pressure between her thighs, an ache that is quiet but insistent. She watches the orbs’ light flicker over his skin, traces the shadows that dance over his heart with a single fingertip, and pretends she doesn’t notice how his heartbeat beats faster under her palm.

She takes a deep breath and steps forward, until her hand is trapped between them and she can feel every line of his body against hers. He’s hard, hot and heavy against the slight curve of her belly, and the knowledge only sharpens the ache to a persistent need.

It’s hard to breathe, but she manages a quiet breath, followed by a hard swallow. “Solas,” she says, and swallows again. Her cheeks heat when she lifts her face to meet his eyes and she hopes he doesn’t notice her embarrassment.

What she notices, though, is that his eyes are no longer blue, but a deep black, the blue so dark it’s hard to tell the difference between iris and pupil. The silence stretches, and still he is silent, awaiting some word from her. The only movement of his body is his shallow breaths, and the hand he lifts to press her hand harder against his beating heart.

Her legs quake, but she digs her toes into the silt and steels her nerves. _Now or never._

“Solas,” she whispers again, but she can’t get the words out. She stares at him, lips parted on a breath, mouth dry, eyes wide and nervous and full of anticipation. She drags her bottom lip between her teeth, and his eyes darken further as they dart down to drink in the sight.

Solas tucks his thumb under her fingers and lifts her hand to his lips, brushing a hot kiss against the wet skin of each fingertip. He follows an invisible line, from each of her fingertips to her wrist, then to her other hand to repeat the movement.

When he finishes his kisses on her other wrist, he looks up, and the heat and naked adoration in his eyes makes her shiver. “Ellana,” he says, and kisses one of the veins in her wrist. There’s something ragged in his voice, something desperate and aching and lyrical, and she is ready to embrace it. “May I love you tonight?”

She smiles, wondering why he feels the need to ask permission, but her heart still beats faster at his words. This is it. This is the chance she has been waiting for.

“Tonight, and every night,” she breathes, and Solas shuts his eyes, closing them so tightly little furrows appear in the corner of his eyes. She doesn’t even think something’s wrong until she feels a bead of hot wetness on the inside of her wrist. “Solas,” she says, eyes widening, and she steps closer to him.

Solas opens his eyes and cups the back of her head, interlacing their free fingers. He presses their conjoined hands over his hammering heart. “Tell me that this isn’t a dream,” he says, something intense and worrying and unnamable in his rough voice. “Tell me this isn’t a trick of the Fade, toying with me. Vhenan, _please—_ ”

“This isn’t the Fade. This isn’t a dream. This—we are real,” she promises, and he shudders, bowing his head to capture her lips again. Her previous concern drops away and she melts into him, into his warm, solid embrace.

His tongue sweeps into her mouth, unhurried and sweet, and she moans, almost half-drunk on the taste of him. The noise she makes only seems to spur him on; he releases her hand and slides his now-free hand into her hair, his fingers parting for her ear. She wraps her arms around his torso in response, her fingertips digging into the space between his shoulderblades.

When they break the kiss, one of Solas’s hands leaves her hair to trail down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He kisses her again, ever hungry, and his fingers dance across the skin of her ribs. They go lower, circling her hipbone, tracing the crease between pelvis and thigh, and warning bells go off in her mind.

She catches his wrist and feels her face burn. He stills instantly, tilting her chin up when she doesn’t meet his eyes. “I—” she tries, and swallows when her words fail her. She looks at his patient gaze and squeezes her eyes shut. “I haven’t… really… done this before. Sex.”

His face—she can’t decide if he looks as if she’s punched him, or as if he’s about to be ill.

At his shocked silence, humiliation replaces any pleasure she’s felt thus far. Despite the water’s warmth and the tropical heat of the Graves, the air chills her skin, and she lowers her eyes, shame burning under her skin and in the points of her ears.

Of course he would prefer experienced women. If he politely excused himself and fled the pool, she wouldn’t be surprised in the least. But who could she go to to get experience, if the only one she wanted was Solas?

“Vhenan.” His voice is hoarse, almost choked on emotion. He cups her cheek and runs his thumb over her cheekbone. “My heart. Are you certain that you wish to share this with me? There is… no one else you would prefer?”

“Never,” she replies, and swallows. “I… I can’t really explain it. I never felt close to anyone, except my clan, but I only saw my clan as… as my family, you know? But with you—I feel this connection, and I love the relationship we already have, but I want… I want this, Solas. I do. But if you don’t—if you’d rather have someone more experienced—”

His lips on the fragile skin of her temple makes her stutter and stop. “Hush. No. You are all I could ever desire,” he says, and he sounds so sincere her eyes water. He brushes his lips against her forehead in three light strokes, more flutters of contact than true kisses. They’re fleeting and soft, but they reawaken the familiar warmth settled deep in her belly.

Solas pulls away, and lifts her hands to kiss them. “Come with me, my love,” he murmurs, and she follows him without hesitation, butterflies fluttering in her stomach and making her heart constrict. He leads her to the edge of the pool, where his clothes and a large rag for drying rest on rocks, separated from her own things.

They leave the pool, and the ring of lights follow them, encasing them in perpetual golden light. She expects Solas to go for the clothes, and he does. He takes his tunic and kneels, spreading it along the grass. When the task is done, he looks up at her, his skin golden and silver in the night’s lights. He lifts his hand, a soft smile on his face, and she takes it as she kneels beside him.

She is the one who lowers herself fully onto his shirt, feeling the water from the pool soak into the fabric. She stretches her hands out to her sides, running her fingers over the soft, worn cotton. “Your shirt’s going to be wet tomorrow,” she apologizes, with a wince.

“My shirt will smell like you tomorrow,” he corrects, settling at her side, propping himself on an elbow so he is just slightly over her. It’s almost as if they’re on the couch on his rotunda, and she is resting her head in his lap as he reads to her. He smiles at her, his eyes dark in the moonlight. “And if it must get wet beforehand, I am amenable to such an exchange.”

She shakes her head, a wry grin on her lips. “Sweet talker.”

They fall into silence, watching each other. The night is alive around them: crickets and cicadas sing in their own natural symphony, accompanied by the occasional owl’s hoot, and the waterfall is a soft buzz in the background.

Solas finally rests his hand on her stomach, his thumb dipping into her navel and tracing it. She tenses at first, unsure what to expect, but his hand is so warm on her damp skin that her muscles relax, and she sighs as her head rolls toward him. She knows her eyes are wide, her lips parted on purpose, and she lifts a hand to place it over his.

Solas’s breathing is even, but his pupils are blown. “Once,” he begins, voice rough, and then he clears his throat as he draws circles over her skin. “Once, I witnessed certain traditions amongst the elves of Arlathan. Courted women were given gifts, had flowers and crystals braided into their hair so they shone all hours of the day. The courter was not serious unless he crafted an item of unrivaled beauty, so that his lady love could wear it and all the world would know they were lovers. Oft times it was a bracelet, or a hairnet, or a necklace.”

She grins. “Did an elvhen lady give you your necklace? Should I be worried?”

He returns her smile. “A friend gifted it to me, with no romantic overtures. Ellana.” Her name is honey on his lips, wrapped in silk and heat, and she shivers as he lifts his hand from her stomach to cup her face. He brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, and she clasps his wrist, her eyes locked with his. He lowers himself further, presses a lingering kiss to her temple. He pulls away from her temple and shuts his eyes. “I long to give you what you so deserve. You should be—”

“Solas,” she says, and he stops at once, though his eyes do not open. She lifts herself up to kiss the corner of his lips, and though he turns to her, seeking more, she pulls away. She cups his face in return, completing the circuit. “Solas, look at me.”

He opens his eyes, pain and love and longing combining to create a sight that wrenches her heart. “Forget the pain, my love,” she whispers, her voice nearly drowned out by the waterfall. “Forget whatever eats at you. Here, there is just you and me. There is just our love. No one else. Nothing else. All right?”

He stares at her, wonderment replacing the ghosts in his gaze. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” she confirms.

“My heart,” he whispers, with breathtaking affection, and kisses her with so much tenderness it aches in her heart. She lowers herself back down onto his tunic, and he follows, placing his free hand beside her hip. His tongue swipes at her lips, and she willingly opens her mouth, moaning at the taste of him sliding across her palate.

When they part, Solas follows an age-old but familiar line from the corner of her lips to the lobe of her ear, down to her jaw and then to trace the delicate column of her throat. Usually, he stops at her collarbone, but this time he lifts his head once he reaches the juncture between her neck and clavicle. “Ellana,” he says.

“Solas,” she returns, in the same tone. His lips lift up in a corner, then drop down as he returns to his seriousness.

“If I do anything you do not like,” he begins, “you must only say the word. Never fear that I will be angry, or disappointed, if you want to stop. Your pleasure and comfort are all that I wish.”

She nods, and he kisses her, rolling back onto his forearm to balance above her. She rolls with him to balance on her side, his back to her chest. Ellana turns, lifting an arm and looping it behind his neck, her fingers spreading across the nape of his neck and his shoulder. She watches his eyes drag from her eyes down to her body, lingering over her breasts and the sparse patch of curls between her legs. He rests a hand over her ribs, and the combination of his touch and his gaze turns the gentle warmth into a steady fire, burning under her skin.

Her core pulses, once, and she squeezes her thighs together in some attempt to quell the ache that’s been growing steadier under his burning gaze. Solas watches the movement and she feels more than hears his breath hitch into something darker, needier. She turns her head and hides her smile into his throat.

His hand skims over her skin, impossibly gentle, and lifts to cup her breast, test its weight in his palm. When his thumb flicks over her nipple, her breath catches, unprepared for the spark of nerves that follows his touch. Solas raises an eyebrow at her, a question in his eyes, and she smiles at him.

When he does it again, pinching her nipple between two fingers and rolling it, she can’t stop her whimper of pleasure, and her back arches slightly, pushing her breast further into his hand and her ass against his cock. He teases her until her nipple is rigid and a light flush colors her neck, and then he moves on to the other one, inflicting a similar delicious torture on it.

When both her nipples are hard and there is a steady throb between her legs, her fingertips dig into his skin. “Solas, please,” she whimpers, her head falling to the side. Solas brushes the hair away from her neck and kisses the exposed flesh. He drags his teeth over a pulsing vein, and she squirms, clenching her legs together to appease the throbbing of her core that has joined her heartbeat.

“What do you wish, emm’asha?” he asks, voice dark and draped in promise. “I am yours.”

She swallows, nervousness coiling in her gut and nearly replacing the naked desire that thrums in her like a living creature, and carefully pulls away from him, splaying herself across his tunic. She can feel her wet hair spreading out behind her head, feels her throat bob as she watches Solas’s eyes take her in.

Her legs fall open, as easily and naturally as breathing, and her next words are quiet as a breath. “Taste me?”

Solas smiles, and rolls over her, propping himself on his arms bracketed on either side of her waist. “I have dreamed of this,” he confesses against her lips, and his grin is infectious. He kisses her again, soft and wonderful and passionate, and when they part Solas drifts to her underside of her jaw.

“Tell me,” she implores, still catching her breath from the kiss. Solas’s response is to lave his tongue across her throat, lapping up the water droplets that still cling to her skin. It’s how it’s always been with them—he comes and leaves her breathless, and she leaves him speechless in return.

The orbs flicker as he moves from throat to collarbone. His hands flatten from fists to palms pressed hard against the grass. “It varied,” he admits with a chuckle. “Some days it would be in the palaces I have seen in my travels, in lavish beds meant for goddesses. Other times it would be in a forest, or against a wall, or under a starlit sky. On nights when I could not close my eyes without seeing you writhing beneath me, I toyed with the idea of sneaking up to your room and making love to you all night, consequences be damned.”

He has been watching her the entire time, taking in each bob of her throat, each quiver in her muscles, but the last phrase makes her grin. Her laugh is choked by a moan when he wraps his lips around her nipple. He flicks the point with his tongue, sending pleasurable shocks through her nerves, and she lifts her eyes to the sky while her hand cradles the back of his head. When he releases her nipple, he pauses. “Ma vhenan,” he says, and she looks back at him, doing her best to keep her breathing as even as his. “Please. I would have you watch.”

He lifts a hand to brush trembling fingertips across her mouth, and on instinct she opens her mouth and seals her lips around one of his fingers, sucking hard. Solas moans at the sight, his eyes jet black in the moonlight, and she flicks her tongue over his fingertip, never breaking eye contact with him.

“You do not know what you do to me, vhenan,” he rasps, and when she releases his finger with a wet pop and a satisfied smile he presses lingering, wet, open-mouthed kisses down her belly. He moves lower down her body, and her breath hitches in a strange anticipation she can’t place. Her clan-sisters had discussed this, what Solas was about to do to her. Some had claimed it was their favorite part of sex. Others had said they hadn’t enjoyed it, to which the first group replied that their lovers must not be doing it properly. She can't help but wonder what type of lover Solas would be.

His fingertips dance along the inside of her knees, spreading fire and need under her skin wherever his touch lands, and he slowly pushes her legs further apart until her knees hit the grass and her muscles sing with a sweet ache. “Ma vhenan,” he breathes. His eyes remain on her cunt, but in the next heartbeat he lifts his head and stares at her with aching sincerity. “You are beautiful.”

And then, without giving her a chance to respond, he dips his head between her legs.

His tongue presses against her, searing and wet, and Ellana gasps, her hands fisting in his tunic. He licks her open, the brushes of his tongue against her cunt steady and maddening. His hands slide up her thigh to cup her waist, and he lifts her hips, rocking her against him. She gets his message—planting her feet on either side of his head, she rolls her hips against his face, the extra stimulation from his nose and chin against her slit pulling a low moan from her.

Solas pulls away to press a kiss against the inside of her thigh. “Yes, vhenan,” he murmurs, his thumbs digging into her hipbones. “Sing. Let me hear you.”

His voice is positively sinful, and she shivers, managing a shaky nod. Solas smiles and moves forward, burying his tongue between her folds and feasting on her like a starving man. His increased pace is a jolt to her already overstimulated senses, and she rolls her head back on the tunic, her hands fisting wildly in a desperate search for something with which to ground herself.

Solas licks between her folds, laps at her slit, circles his tongue around her entrance, and it’s almost too much. Her breathing is heavy, the pleas he draws from her senseless and more breathy gasps than words, and her hips grind down against his face in a quest for more.

Solas tilts his head and lifts her hips, his nose bumping against her clit as he presses his tongue into her entrance. She claws at the grass, gasping his name, but all she can focus on is his tongue pushing in and out, in and out, fucking her with almost lazy thrusts. Her cunt twitches weakly around the intrusion, but she cannot hold him, can only thrash on his tunic and take the ecstasy he gives her.

When Solas’s tongue leaves her, only to press against her clit and circle in light, teasing strokes, the sensation is too much. She bucks against him, grinding down on his face as she comes, crying out his name to the vibrant forest. Solas drinks her down, swallowing mouthfuls of her taste with greedy, delighted noises, his tongue licking her folds an almost gentle caress as he guides her through the finish.

When her muscles relax, she smiles down at him, running her hand over his scalp and brushing against the curve of an ear. As they both catch their breath, she smiles at him, fully expecting him to crawl up and kiss her. Fully expecting him to spread her legs and take her, as she’s been longing for him to do ever since he got into the pool.

Instead, Solas flicks his tongue against her clit, one of his hands sliding from her waist to cup her ass, squeezing and kneading her flesh. She gasps, feeling the familiar yearning need begin to build up again, and manages to choke out, “Solas, wait—”

Solas stops immediately, his hand now a hot and heavy presence on her inner thigh. “What is it, my heart?”

She can feel her blush again, and this time it’s not from arousal. “I thought—I thought—” He waits, concern overtaking the heat in his eyes, and the sight of him between her legs, lips just heartbeats away from her cunt, drives her almost to distraction. “I thought you’d want to be inside me by now,” she admits.

Solas smiles, and the hunger that has grown so familiar creeps back into his gaze. “I do,” he says, stroking the inside of her thigh. “I want to be so deep inside you, you cannot tell where I end and you begin. But my heart, I want other things as well.” His eyes glitter, and his smile turns almost wolfish. _“Ma vhenan. Sathan. Lasa em tua rosas’da’din.”_

Her mouth goes dry, and she nods before she can help herself. Solas lowers his head and laps at her clit, his tongue a light, flicking pressure that’s perfect and not enough. She bucks her hips, but he avoids her attempts to increase the pressure, and damn him, but she can feel his smile against her when she lets out a helpless moan.

“Solas,” she pants, arching up to meet his mouth. It’s beautiful, this pressure deep inside her, coiling so tight she burns for its release. “Solas, touch me, please—”

That makes him groan against her, and the vibration makes her toes curl. He pulls away, his breath hot on her sex, and he moves slowly up her body, his hands skimming her wet skin. His palms linger on her breasts for only a heartbeat, cupping their weight in a tender caress, and then he braces himself on one arm, moving out from between her legs. His hand tangles in her hair and tilts her head up for a sweet, dizzying kiss.

“Touch me,” she whispers again, when he pulls away to stare at her with breathtaking adoration on his face. The crickets grow louder as his hand roams over the expanse of her abdomen. His breathing is harsh in her ear and it only serves to stoke the want in her higher.

“Perfect,” he whispers, voice hot against her ear. She chokes on a moan as his fingers brush tantalizing light strokes across her inner thigh, dipping closer to where she wants him but not touching. “Vhenan, you are _perfect_ , so hot and wet for me. You taste divine, my love. I cannot wait to have you at Skyhold—I will have you properly there, on a bed, and love you again, as you deserve. Would you like that, my heart?”

“Yes,” she moans, and Solas inhales raggedly as his calloused fingertips stroke down her sex. She jolts, because—well, wanting him to touch her is one thing. The reality is far different, and far more pleasurable. Her legs spread unconsciously, and his hand leaves her cunt for a heartbeat as he hooks her foot behind his knee, leaving her utterly bare for him. His cock is hard and heavy against the outside of her thigh, but his eyes smolder like coals when he drags one finger across her entrance. It does not linger there; it drifts across her silken folds as if he wishes to memorize how she feels under him.

She shudders under his touch, struggling to keep her eyes open, struggling not to let her head fall back and give herself over to the ecstasy. Solas murmurs to her as his fingers stroke her folds, massaging and exploring, learning what she likes through her hitched breaths and tensing muscles.

Her breathing is shallow and harsh, and she can feel the heat of her cheeks in the night. She almost begs, almost shifts her hips so his finger will slip in the next time he touches, but she can do nothing but watch Solas’s blown pupils focus on her lips. Every line of his face betrays him for what he is: aching and starved for something only she can give.

And then his fingertip circles her entrance and pushes in, and she forgets everything as her mind blanks. She cannot stop her moan as Solas’s finger pumps in and out of her, short-circuiting her nerves with every drag of his fingertip in her folds.

His finger inside her is—strange, but not unpleasant. His thumb swipes upward, brushing against her clit, and she gasps, heat pooling in her core. She can feel herself get wetter, and Solas feels it too. His grin is warm and soft and beautiful. She lifts her hand from his shoulder, aware of how it shakes, and presses it against his face, her thumb swiping over his lip. He captures it between his teeth and draws her thumb into his mouth, his tongue flicking at her skin like it had flicked at her clit.

Gods help her, but she is so wet. She wants him under the light of Mythal’s moon, and for every day after, for as long as he will have her.

She pulls her thumb out, and Solas chases her fingers, his wet lips brushing against hers. She tastes like something dark, almost like chocolate, but not quite. She opens her mouth, welcoming the taste of her on his tongue, like a flower blooming toward the sun.

The next time his finger pumps into her, it is laced with a gentle, vibrating current of electricity. She breaks the kiss with a choked cry, and Solas peppers her face with kisses and murmured endearments as she shatters around him.

When she comes down, panting, Solas kisses her again and moves down her body. She can’t gather the breath to tease him before he has thrown her legs over his shoulders and taken to his task quite eagerly. Soon, sooner than she’d anticipated, she is already climbing back up the spiral of white-hot bliss, her breaths coming in short, shallow pants.

The waterfall behind them seems to roar as a hand supporting her hip slides up her waist. His fingertips brush against her knuckles and she turns her hand as her hips buck, chasing her release. Solas intertwines their fingers, gripping her palm. Her free hand cups the back of his head, guiding him to what makes her thrash underneath him.

And then he adds a second finger. She gasps, the noise more pain than pleasure. He hears it and stops, pressing a kiss against her bare thigh as his eyes dart to her. “All right?” he murmurs, concern once again blanketing the lust that darkens his eyes.

Ellana inhales, sharply, through her nose, and she feels herself relax around his fingers. She feels herself accept him. Then she meets his eyes and relaxes on his tunic again, swallowing hard. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, through chapped lips.

“I am yours,” he confesses, and the three words send a thrill through her. His fingers move even slower than the first time, scissoring inside her and stretching her, but at some point it stops being _uncomfortable_ and ventures into _pleasurable_.

“More,” she pleads, her hips shifting restlessly. He places his free hand on her waist, holding her down, and she can read his intent in his desperate eyes.

Ellana looses a high, keening wail when his lips wrap around her clit. The fingers that pump into her are maddening in their slow pace, and when her hips buck up restlessly, fucking herself on his hand, Solas pulls away from her cunt to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss against her shaking thigh. While he brushes his lips against the soft skin of her inner thigh, his fingers speed up, making obscene sounds that would embarrass her if she wasn’t so aroused.

She’s so close—so close to this strange cliff, this edge which he’s been leading her up to. Somehow, she knows that he will catch her when she falls.

He does not stop thrusting his fingers as he worships her cunt, rolling her folds between his lips and lapping at her slick with a tongue so hot it has to be heated with fire magic. When she gasps out the question (“Are— _oh_ —are you—fire magic?”), Solas only grins at her and increases his pace.

Solas crooks his fingers inside of her, his other hand squeezing hers, and when he next laps at her folds, his tongue and his fingers inside her buzz with electricity. She comes chanting his name, heat sparking through her and white spots bursting behind her eyes. He guides her through it, his fingers petting and curling against every secret spot inside her while his tongue worships her folds.

When she comes down, he doesn’t stop. He only makes a frantic, needy noise, and then his tongue joins his fingers in their devotion, and it’s too much sensation—she shudders through a climax again, and again, until her thighs quiver and her muscles feel like molten liquid.

Only when she is boneless on his tunic, and only then, does Solas press a last, loving kiss to her sex. His chin and lips gleam in the night, reflecting the light of the orbs that bathe them in a soft, warm glow. “Divine,” he purrs. “I could taste you every night for a thousand years and not have enough.”

Ellana swallows and pulls him forward, wanting to taste herself on his tongue again.

Solas breaks the kiss after a long, lingering moment, and reaches for her free hand. The Anchor glows emerald against his skin, and he brings both of her palms up to brush his lips across the backs of her knuckles. The gesture bathes half of his face in gold and half in emerald. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers to her. She can see his flushed face in the golden light, his eyes bright and the tips of his ears a sweet pink.

“You are, as well,” she insists. His eyebrows quirk, and his lips twitch, in some melancholy, unidentifiable emotion. He wraps his arms around her and draws her close, rolling over so he is the one on his back.

Her hair is already semi-dry in the oppressive heat of the Graves, and when she straightens above him it drapes down one shoulder to brush against his skin. Solas releases a hand to weave his fingers through her hair. As he sits up and she sits on his lap, he kisses her again, his grip on her hand and her hair tight, as if letting go of her would devastate him.

When they break the kiss, Ellana places a hand on his collarbone and pushes him back onto the wet tunic. He goes willingly, his fingertips tracing invisible shapes into her skin. When he is flat on his back, she carefully leans forward, resting her cheek against his heart.

“Solas,” she whispers. “May I love you tonight?”

He swallows, and the hunger in his gaze softens into something decidedly sweeter. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, nothing else save affection in their nearly chaste kiss. It would be chaste, if he did not insist on rolling her bottom lip between his teeth, or if she could not taste herself in his mouth.

“Tonight,” he returns, pressing his forehead to hers, “and every night after.”

She smiles and kisses his temple. “Well then. What do you want, emm’isha? I am yours.”

Solas inhales, but even his attempt at self-control cannot stop the husky thread that runs through his voice. “I would be inside you, vhenan,” he says, and she kisses him in response.

When she pulls away, she drags her hands down his sides, intent on making this as pleasurable for him as he has made it for her. Nothing about her first time has been like what her clan sisters described—except, maybe, she thinks with a blush, that bit about his mouth on her. She is determined to make it even better than her wildest hopes.

Ellana slides down his body, brushing herself over the head of him—it feels wonderful, and they both moan at the sensation—but she does not sink down onto him. Not yet. Instead, she straddles his thighs and sits up, taking advantage of the new angle and lighting to study his cock. It is hard and bobs obscenely between his belly and her thighs with every harsh breath of his. The head of him is red, dripping clear fluid from the tip, and it makes her mouth go dry.

Solas senses her hesitancy, and in a moment, his fingers brush against her jaw. “What is it?”

“You’re beautiful,” she says, and swallows. “But—um, you’ll fit, right? I mean, if women can push out babes, this will be all right.” Her last sentence is meant more as a comfort for her, but it catches Solas so off-guard he starts laughing.

“I hope it will be more than _all right_ , vhenan,” he says, and snorts. Ellana swats his chest and drags her nails down to his hipbones, which makes his laugh stutter off into a sharp breath.

“No teasing the virgin,” she mock threatens, narrowing her eyes playfully at him. Solas chuckles in response. His eyes, lightened by his amusement, dilate once more as she swipes her thumbs closer to his cock.

“I will not tease the virgin,” he agrees.

He grins at her, something mischievous and lighthearted in the expression, and pushes himself up. This time Ellana doesn’t push him back down. Instead, she leans forward to kiss him, inhaling his lips and tongue. He cradles her head with one hand, his palm cupping the back of her hair as he crushes her to him, a parched man finally able to slake his thirst.

And then she takes him in hand, and all but swallows his choked moan into her mouth.

He pulls away at once to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “Tell me if I’m doing this wrong,” Ellana whispers to him, and she carefully presses her thumb against the head of him, circling the tip and wetting the pad of her finger with him. She explores him with light, fleeting touches—running her fingers up and down his length, plucking at the wiry hairs around him, massaging his sac with the barest caress.

When she wraps her hand around him again and squeezes, he gasps against her skin, his hips bucking up into her hand helplessly. His fingers, resting lightly on the curve of her lower back, tighten until it is as if he clings to her. One of his hands wraps around hers, gently guiding her to what he likes. He wets her palm on his leaking head, and—oh, yes, that eases the friction. Very helpful to know for the future.

She moves her hands up and down in slow, tight, prolonged strokes. His other arm wraps around her back and he peppers her collarbone with kisses, while she noses the soft skin of his temple. “Ma vhenan,” she whispers, and his whole body shudders. His hand around hers, which had previously been guiding her, wraps around her wrist and pulls her away.

“Please, my love,” he whispers against her throat. He murmurs it again, in Elvish, the words somehow sounding more desperate in his native tongue. _Sathan, ma vhenan, sathan, sathan._

His hunger sets loose a fresh wave of desire straight to her core, throbbing like a separate pulse. She kisses his temple and pushes him back, and his hands settle on her lower back. They shift lower, however, and he gives her ass an appreciative squeeze. Something mischievous lights in his eyes when her mouth falls open, pink lips forming a surprised ‘o.’

“Behave,” she murmurs at last, unable to help her smile.

When she carefully drags her dripping sex across his cock, Solas groans, hips thrusting into the air. She takes him in hand again, her grip a bit firmer than the last time. It’s a little awkward, finding the right position, but then she sinks down as he thrusts up and—oh.

Her breath hitches as she settles above him, and Solas runs a comforting hand up her spine. “Any pain?” he asks, worry momentarily replacing the heat in his voice.

“No,” Ellana whispers, her voice full of wonder. She braces herself on his chest and lifts herself up on shaking legs, until he’s almost fully out of her. Solas grips her hips again, sucking in a harsh breath as she takes him again.

Her muscles feel like molten jelly. She’s still buzzing from her climax, still loose-limbed from pleasure, but, oh, he fills her in the most _wonderful_ ways. She moans as they find their rhythm, potent and rolling like an ocean wave, and as she rides him her head falls back.

She stutters out his name as his cock hits  _something_ inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids. His name from her lips makes him growl something and he surges up, his arms wrapping around her, one hand flattened between her shoulder blades, the other sinking into her hair. He slants his mouth over hers as they rock against each other. When she has to breathe, he settles for dipping his head and capturing a nipple between his teeth. At the same time, he hits that secret spot again, and she cries out, her hips undulating in a maddeningly slow pace.

She wants more. She wants him, as much of him as he is willing to give.

Solas seems to hear her thoughts. The hand in her hair disentangles itself and braces on the tunic, and he rolls them over, so seamlessly she’s only aware of it during the last few moments. Once she’s underneath him, he wraps her shaking legs around his waist and buries himself to the hilt. It is perfect.

They take a moment, savoring the feel of each other. Solas strokes her face. “All right?” he asks, again.

“More than all right,” she replies. He laughs, huskily, and she swallows. “You?”

“You are perfect,” he assures her, and his hands drift over her own palms, lacing their fingers together. He presses their hands into the grass, kisses her with such passion she can feel his love thudding in her own heart. As her mouth falls open and the taste of him slides across her tongue, he begins to move.

After that, Ellana can focus on nothing but the sensation of him. The delicious, slow stretch of him inside her; his lips leaving a burning trail of adoration across her face and neck and breasts; his hands, entwined with her own, pressed against the dewed grass. The forest sings with the sounds of their lovemaking: the steady slide of skin against skin, their harsh breaths mingling together, whispered endearments muffled against sweat- and water-slicked skin. The burn is brighter, now. It is no less passionate, but it is slower.

She thinks she prefers sex this way, where she is aware of everything at once.

“My heart. My love. My Ellana,” Solas murmurs against the corner of her mouth.

“My Solas,” she replies, squeezing his hands. He rests his forehead against hers and smiles. She lifts her chin, seeking out another kiss.

Solas takes his time with her, his hands withdrawing from hers to map out her body and every one of its hidden spaces. When his fingertips discover a ticklish area just below her ribs, he smiles as though he has just uncovered a precious secret. When Ellana squirms away, laughing, he pulls out of her just long enough to kiss the spot, his lips making her laugh even more.

Ellana punishes him by welcoming him back between her legs, then wrapping an arm around his back. She places the other hand on his shoulder—and, when he is whispering fervent Elvish praises against her throat as he thrusts into her, she finds the clarity through the haze of pleasure to lift her hand and firmly strokes the ridge of his ear.

Solas comes with a surprised cry, and the feel of his cock pulsing inside her is enough for her to bring her over the edge, too. She shivers around him, holding him close as her toes curl and bliss washes through her. Solas’s hands burrow in her hair as his hips give a last, quick staccato of thrusts.

When they fall still, the waterfall is a din in the background, bringing them back to the present. Solas kisses her skin again, then pushes himself up onto his forearms. He pets her hair, staring down at her fondly while he softens inside her. “A low trick,” he says, his eyes sparkling with affection. “I will be sure to repay in kind.”

Ellana smiles and lifts a hand, brushing her fingertips over his bottom lip, then tracing his chin, then skirting the sharp line of his jaw, as attentive to his face as he had been with her body. The Anchor casts shadows across his expression, but the glowing orbs around them keep the rest of the darkness at bay. Solas closes his eyes and leans into her touch, like a tired animal who knows he has found safety at last.

“No regrets?” she asks, softly, and his eyes open once more. He shifts his weight to one arm so he can take her Anchored palm and press his mouth to it. When his lips pull away, he holds her hand against his heart.

“I have made many mistakes in my life, vhenan. But you are not one of them. And neither was this.”

Ellana presses her palm more fimly against his chest. She smiles, and he dips down to kiss her again. She sighs against him, tugging him closer, and he pulls out of her as he slants his mouth over hers.

“Come, vhenan,” he tells her, and rises. He offers his hand to her, and as he lifts her up, she can feel his seed trickle down her thigh. He gazes at it for but a moment, then lifts her knuckles to his lips. “I think we need another bath.”

She follows him back into the warmth of the pond willingly. When they are both hip-deep, Solas turns to her and wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her until he can press his nose into her hair and inhale, deeply. Ellana rests her cheek on his chest, closing her eyes and listening to his heartbeat. “I’m glad it was you,” she says.

Solas strokes her hair. “Hm?”

She pulls away and rolls onto her tip-toes to peck him. “I’m glad you were my first,” she says, cracking a smile. “I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Solas huffs in amusement, shaking his head once before tilting his head down to kiss her properly. He smiles when they part, but it soon fades into a serious expression. He caresses her cheek and kisses her forehead. Ellana looks at him, and cannot help but wonder what weight he carries, and how she might share it.

His hand caresses the curve of her belly, then dips down. She whimpers as his fingers part her folds again, and he murmurs soft nothings to her as his fingers begin to heat. They glow green underneath the water, and send tingles up her spine. Her toes curl in the silt again.

“What spell was that?” she asks.

Solas smirks. “You will be sore tomorrow. I only provided a little healing magic, to lessen the worst of it.”

“Oh, you’re confident,” she mutters. She hardly has the words out before his hands are cupping the back of her head. He kisses her until she’s dizzy from the taste and scent of him, until she’s breathless from his teeth and tongue and lips.

When he breaks the kiss, he looks far too smug. “Confidence earned from experience is hardly a vice, vhenan.”

“Experience? Uh-huh. Well, bud, I’m going to need further proof,” Ellana declares with an easy shrug. She turns, but he catches her around the waist and pulls her back to him, tilting her chin up and getting one last taste of her. He clutches her to him and groans when she nips at his bottom lip. He can’t get enough of her, and that simple fact makes her shiver in his arms.

“Allow me to show you,” he murmurs when they part, his hands hot on her skin. They drift down her back to cup the small of her back, fingertips just brushing the top of her ass.

“Maybe another time,” says Ellana, softening her words with another kiss. Maybe she can’t enough of him, either.

It actually takes them much longer to clean up, get out of the pool, and dress. Solas pulls on his leggings and takes his soiled shirt in hand, then sits on the rocks to watch her dry off and put on her own clothes.

Ellana makes it a show for him. She drags the towel down her bare back, tilts her head to the side as she pats off the extra water droplets clinging to her arms, baring her neck. She bends over when she needs to dry her legs and inner thighs. At that, Solas inhales sharply behind her, and she looks around to see him watching her with rapt attention, his eyes once again dark with desire. It sends a little thrill through her, but she straightens and turns, drying off the valley between her breasts, then down over her stomach.

When the rest of her body is dry, she ties the towel around her waist and arches her back, lifting her arms to tie her hair back into a bun. As she wrings it out, more rivulets of water splash down onto her skin. One water droplet in particular clings to the swell of her breast before travelling down her stomach. Solas watches it eagerly as it snakes over her skin and vanishes into the towel, and then his eyes rove back up her body to meet her gaze.

“Nothing else you want to do to me, emma lath?” she teases, shifting her weight. If it were _anyone_ but Solas, this little game would do nothing but embarrass her. As it were, watching him watch her with arousal evident in his eyes only makes her hungry for his touch.

Again.

As if they hadn’t spent the last few minutes of their second bath with her on a flat rock and his head between her legs.

Solas swallows, and shakes his head. “I could make love to you a thousand times a day and not be sated, vhenan,” he says, and the husk in his voice makes gooseflesh ripple across her skin. “But it is late, and you must get _some_ sleep.”

“How generous of you,” she says, reaching for her leathers. When she pulls them on, wiggling her hips more than normal, she laughs at the blatant disappointment in his eyes. “You had your chance, bud.”

“I did,” he agrees. When she is fully dressed, her towel around her neck to prevent her hair from wetting her clothes any further, he reaches for her hand and she takes it eagerly. They walk to the edge of the clearing, but Ellana stops and looks over her shoulder.

The waterfall mists over the pond, and the fire rune has long since burned out. The orbs linger, however, casting golden light over the water’s surface and the grass. Ellana watches the scene in silence, and feels herself smile. She turns back to Solas and stands on her tiptoes, tugging him down for a kiss.

“I’ll never forget this,” she says, after, when his forehead rests against hers. “I’ll never forget us.”

Solas smiles, but that shadowed weight has returned to his eyes. “Nor will I, vhenan. I promise you that.”

She touches his cheekbone and draws him back to her. “Remember what I said,” she whispers. “There’s just us. Nothing else. No one else. Just us.”

Solas kisses her again. “I remember,” he murmurs, stroking her face like it is something holy.

She squeezes his hand, and together they leave the clearing to return to camp.

**Author's Note:**

> Sathan. Lasa em tua rosas’da’din. - Please. Let me make you come.


End file.
